My Nightmare
by Renna-chan
Summary: A new girl has moved to Springwood, and she's different. For one thing, she thinks the idea of a demon killing everyone in their sleep is cool......... [on hiatus indefinitely]
1. Chapter the First

Yeah, I know, what a crappy name, eh? When I think of a better one I'll rename it. Anyway, disclaimer: I don't own Springwood, Elm Street or Fred Krueger.  


Willow sighed and ran her fingers through her white-blond hair as she looked out the window of her father's grey Toyota. This town was boring already and she hadn't even gotten out of the car yet.

"This is our street, guys," her mother said as they pulled into a street.

Willow blinked. She could sense something. As they drove further the sensation increased: there was power in this area, an enormous power, and it wasn't a power she could use.

Willow smiled to herself. Maybe this town wouldn't be that boring after all.

"Here we are," said her father, pulling into a driveway. "Help me unpack, Willow."

She sighed but did as he asked. It was easier than arguing with him. Even though she normally won in the end it was faster to just do what he asked. Besides, she really wanted to check out where that energy was coming from.

As soon as she had got all of our suitcases out of the car she told her parents she was going to have a look around their new neighbourhood and set off in search of the power.

She walked down her new street, Elm Street, following the source of the power. After a while she closed her eyes as she walked along, to better feel the energy she was following. 

She knew when she had reached the source of the power, and stopped. She opened my eyes to see a house in front of her. It looked pretty run-down, especially compared to the other houses in the neighbourhood. It had something like sadness oozing out from it. And something else as well; she would hesitate to use the word "evil" – she doesn't believe in such things – but that's more or less what it felt like to her. A dark feeling. Cold. Angry.

But, refusing to acknowledge that "evil" and "good" are anything but different ways of looking at the same thing, she stepped inside the house. She looked carefully around the house, making mental notes:

The number beside the door is 1482. The paint is peeling. The stairs, which are opposite the door, have holes through them. They are probably unsafe, but I'll go up there soon anyway. The basement seems to have seen more than one fire.

After some exploring, she sat down at the kitchen table and closed her eyes. She could feel that there had been some very strong emotions in the area. She decided to sit until she saw some shades: the echoes of past emotion so strong they imprint themselves on the world, playing and replaying past hells. 

Her meditative state was disturbed by the banging of stones against the kitchen window. She got up to see who it was, angry that people were disturbing a house full of such energy.

"Quit it," she said, poking her head out of the window.

There was a boy out there about 16, the same age as Willow, with a younger boy with him, probably his younger brother. He gaped at her in horror.

"What are you doing?!" he yelled at her. "That's the old Thompson place! Do you know how many people have died in there?!"

"I'd say at least three," she replied. "Do you have a problem?" She went back to the table and sat with her arms folded.

The boy stuck his head in the window. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Well, I WAS trying to get a feel of the things that had happened here, but you broke my concentration."

"You actually WANT to know what happened in here?" he said, disbelieving. "You're weird."

She rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks. I'm not the one throwing rocks at a house so full of energy it's liable to explode, thank you."

The boy ran his hand through his hair. "Well, I don't know anything about energy, but I do know what happened in there. My name's Cory, by the way."

"Willow," she said, giving him a small smile. "Tell me what happened here."

"Well, I dunno . . . "

"If you don't tell me," she said calmly, "then I shall stay here until whatever demon your brother there is afraid of comes and eats me up."

The small boy stuck his head out from behind his brother, where he had been hiding. Instead of saying 'I'm not afraid,' like Willow had expected, he said "I'm smart. I know when to be afraid, and if I'm not careful Freddy will get me."

At the mention of the name the power in the house peaked, the energy rushing around Willow. The sadness grew, and she realised it wasn't just a sadness but a longing, a longing to be free from . . . something . . . 

She stood up. "I want to know about this place, and about Freddy." Again, the growing of the power, the longing . . . freedom . . . "I need to know now."

"Well, all right," Cory said. "Come back to my house and I'll tell you all about it."

She arched an eyebrow at him but decided to take him up on his offer. Exploring upstairs and the basement more thoroughly could be left until another day.

"Okay, then. Lead the way, Cory."

"I'll meet you out the front," he said, grinning at her.

Willow walked through the house and paused at the door, looking behind her. The power didn't notice her leaving. It had barely noticed her arrive. She felt a twinge somewhere inside her. She felt deeply sorry for the thing – Freddy? – whose energy resided within that house. Before she turned, she blew a kiss into the air.

"Goodbye. Thank you for allowing me in your abode." Well, better safe than sorry, she always said. Besides, it was only good manners.

"Here we are: my humble abode," Cory said, holding open the door.

Willow stepped inside. Cory's house was pretty nice, and only a few houses down from Willow's.

"This way," said Cory, running up the stairs to his room. Willow and Cory's brother followed.

Cory turned back at the door to his room. "You can't come in, Jesse," he told his brother. "Last time I told this story you refused to sleep for a week, remember?"

Jesse nodded. "Yeah, I remember. I'll be in my room." He ran off down the hall.

Willow watched him go in amazement. "Wow," she said. "I wish it was that easy to get rid of MY siblings."

Cory laughed. "Sit down," he said, gesturing to his bed. Willow sat. "Right, let me start off by saying that if you scare easy, you might not want to hear it."

Willow gave him a Look. "Please. I'm not a child. Tell me your story."

Cory shrugged. "Okay. Don't say I didn't warn you." He took a deep breath and began.

"This town is cursed. In the seventies, more than twenty kids were abducted and killed, right here in Springwood. They were all only about five or six. They called him the Springwood Slasher. The police finally tracked the guy down to the power plant just outside of town. They searched the place and found the bodies of all these kids. After a long trial, the lawyer for the defense found something wrong with the search warrant they used to search the power plant. The search was ruled illegal and they let the guy go. Everyone was furious about it, especially the parents. They tracked the guy down to his house, doused it in gasoline and set it alight. Covered in flames, he found his way to the door and cursed all the parents who were watching. "I'll come back for your children," he said. Then he walked back into the burning building. That man was Fred Krueger.

"He was true to his word. He's come back, Willow. He stalks people in their dreams, and he kills them. The adults all pretend nothing happened at all. None of the adults will pay any attention. They just say it's a dream and to get over it. Kids stay up really late at night and drink heaps of coffee, popping stay-awake pills, and their parents will say stuff like "You look a little peaky, honey, why don't you get some sleep?" The first person he stalked was called Nancy Thompson. He killed her friends, her boyfriend and her mother. That's her house you were in today. A few families have lived there over the years. Then someone new dies, and what's left of the family moves out. No one will live there anymore. Anyone with half a brain stays away from it. I would too, if I were you."

Cory sat back, his story completed.

Willow stared at him for a minute. Then she started to grin.

"You have GOT to be shitting me," she said.

Cory blinked. "You're not even a little bit scared?"

"Are you kidding? This is the BEST!" She jumped to her feet. "A real back-from-the-dead revenge deal! I can't believe this! And to think I was actually IN that house! No wonder it was so full of energy!"

Cory gave her a disgusted look. "You think this is cool? What are you, sick?"

Willow laughed. "No, I'm not sick. I enjoy life and take every opportunity. And, I see things from EVERYONE'S point of view. You've intrigued me, Cory. I want to find this Fred guy and ask him what his story is."

Cory shook his head, disbelieving. "No way, Willow. You're insane. You can't do that. He'll kill you!"

Willow shrugged. "Then it'll be an adventure. What a way to go, eh?" she grinned. "Killed by a homicidal maniac who's been dead for twenty years!"

Cory stared at her, then shrugged. "Hey, it's your funeral."

"You're damn right it is," she said, winking at him. "Hey, I'm going back to the Thompson place at midnight to call our friend Freddy. Wanna come?"

"I'd rather kill myself."

"Okay," Willow said. "Have fun with your suicide." She gave him a wave and skipped down the stairs and out the front door. Willow wasn't really a skipping type of person, but she decided that today's discoveries were worth a little skipping. She went home, ran up to her new room and started rooting through her boxes for what she was going to need that night.

She struck a match and lit the candle in front of her. She moved to the right and lit the next candle. There was an entire circle of them. All the candles alight, Willow stepped out of the circle, raised her hands and called upon her power.

"Let the one whose energy rests within this place arise!"

The flames on the candles roared with the peak of energy.

"Let Fred Krueger come to me this night!"

Again the flames roared.

"Let this circle of candles be a barrier between the world of the dead and that of the living! Arise! Arise!"

A light grew within the center of the circle. It grew larger – brighter and brighter – until Willow was forced to cover her eyes with her hands.

When the light had faded and the spots in front of her eyes had disappeared, she lowered her hands.

Standing in the middle of the circle was a man wearing an old red and green sweater and a dirty, battered old fedora. He did not look happy.

Willow bit her lip at the sight of the man. "Ooh, you poor thing!"

Freddy blinked. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm sorry."

Freddy resumed his angry stance. "Why did you summon me? No one has dared summon me before!"

"Really?" said Willow. "You must get awfully lonely, then. Would you like to talk about it?"

Freddy snarled. How he dearly wanted to rip out this stupid girl's insides and show them to her. Maybe he could get her to come a little closer . . . 

"Come here," he said, "and pull back that hood. I can't see you."

Willow took a step forward, closer to the candles. "Don't expect me to step inside the circle with you," she said. "I'm not an idiot. She pulled back the hood of her robe and smiled at him. "Hi there, big guy. How's the afterlife treatin' ya?"

"YOU?!"

Willow blinked. "Me?"

Freddy stared at her. What is she doing here? Has she come to haunt me? Why would she do this?

"Hey, hello, Mister Psychopath? What about me?"

Freddy drew back a little. "Nothing," he murmured. "Hey, you don't think you could put out the candles, do ya? I'm not really a great fan of fire."

Willow gave him a sympathetic look. "Hey, I'm sorry," she said. "I'd love to, I really would, but if I do that you could get out of the circle and I really don't want that to happen. I just wanted to ask you a few questions, is all."

"Well, hurry it up then."

Willow smiled shyly. "Okay. So, why'd you kill all those kids?"

Freddy shrugged. "No one in this pathetic town knows what pain is. I was trying to show them all."

She stepped closer. "Is that why you still kill people?"

"One of the reasons, yes."

"What are the other reasons?"

"Well, because their parents burnt me to death and I'm having my revenge, and because it's fun. Are you done now?" he asked.

"Alright, you can go," said Willow. "I was just trying to get your side of the story, is all. No one thinks about the poor homicidal maniac. No one wants to hear HIS story. I just feel a little sorry for them all sometimes. Yes, you may go."

Freddy took one last, long look at her before disappearing from the circle.

Yup, that's my story. You know you love it. Review and tell me how much! Luv Renna-can ^_^


	2. Chapter the Second

Hello, my public. Here is the next chapter to my oh-so-wonderful Elm Street fic. Disclaimer: I don't own Freddy Krueger, Elm Street or Springwood.  
  


Freddy paced around the floor of his run-down apartment in the depths of Hell. He ranked pretty high, as demons went; he could've got himself a better apartment, but he didn't know what to do with himself in something like that. Even this piece of crap someone had the gall to call an apartment was better than he was used to.

The worn carpet was getting even more worn under his feet as he paced. 

"What is she DOING there?" he asked the universe in general. "Why would she do that?"

"Who?"

Freddy span, snarling. "Would you STOP DOING THAT!?!" Freddy demanded. "I TOLD you to get the hell out and to STAY OUT!"

Damien smirked. "Yeah, you told me, but you can't MAKE me, can you?"

"I can fucking try . . . " he said, moving towards the pale, black-haired teenager.

Damien giggled. "Naw, naw, come on, I don't want you to get in trouble with Dad. So who were you talking about?"

Freddy scowled. "Just . . . someone I used to know."

Damien grinned. "Oh, yeah? Old girlfriend?"

"Sort of."

"Hahahaa! Poor woman!"

Freddy growled. "I swear, fucker, if you weren't Lucifer's son . . . "

"Yeah, I know, you'd strangle me with my intestines. So tell me more about this woman. I'm interested."

He shrugged and sat down on the threadbare sofa. "It was a long time ago. She died. End of story."

Damien sat on the arm of the sofa. "So where was she? What did she do?"

Freddy shrugged again. "I was summoned a couple of hours ago. The person who summoned me . . . she could have been her clone. Looked exactly like her. Only, she didn't know anything about me."

Damien raised his eyebrows. "Weird. Hey, maybe she got reincarnated."

"You think so? Then how come she looks so much like she used to?"

Damien shrugged. "Dunno. Reincarnation's like that sometimes. Why don't you go and ask Dad about it or something?"

"Why bother?" Freddy asked. "Just another stupid teenager. A few days and I'll have forgotten about her."

Damien arched an eyebrow. "Sure you will, Krueger. Anyways, I gotta go. I'm playing poker with Jesus and Buddha tonight. Say, why don't you be our forth? Odin backed out."

"I'd rather pull my eyes out."

"Okay, suit yourself. I'll be going, then."

"Good riddance, don't come back," Freddy said.

"Will do!" Damien said, smirking.

Freddy stared at the wall. This was how he spent most of his time, just staring off into space. He tried to avoid thinking, because if he started thinking he started remembering . . . and he would rather die a thousand deaths than remember . . . 

Willow paced the floor of her bedroom. "What IS it about that man that's so familiar?" she asked the universe in general.

"Who?"

Willow looked over her shoulder at her brother. "Fuck off, Jeremy."

Jeremy's eyes widened. "Ooo, you said a baaad wooord."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Now get out of my room."

Jeremy ran off, and she locked the door after him. Then she lay back on her bed.

Where do I know him from? she asked silently, so that no one else uninvited could hear her. Why do I feel so . . . . . strange when I think about him? For that matter, why can't I stop thinking about him? I mean, it's not as if he's Mr. Universe or anything . . . Poor guy, I wonder what he looked like before the flames got him?

There was a knock on her door. "Willow, honey, I know you didn't want to move here, but that's no reason to swear at your brother."

Willow rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, mom, I won't do it again."

"Good girl. Are you ready for school?"

"School?" Willow sat bolt upright. With meeting Freddy, clearing up all her candles and pacing her floor, she had completely forgotten about school, and sleeping. She groaned.

"Not yet, mom."

"Well, hurry up. You're going to be late."

Willow dressed rapidly and grabbed her bag. She was about to head downstairs and out the door when her phone rang. Exasperated, she picked it up.

"Yes?"

"Hey!" said the bright voice at the other end of the line. "It's Cory!"

"Uh, hi Cory . . . Did I give you my number?"

"Nah, my parents got it from your parents." She could hear the smile of his face. "So, do you want a ride to school? I've got a convertible."

Willow smiled. "Okay, then. I've meet you outside my house in ten."

"Great! See you then."

Good, now I'll have time for some breakfast, Willow thought, going to the fridge and grabbing herself an apple and the carton of milk. She poured herself a glass and downed it, then left the carton on the bench for her siblings. She sat on her porch eating her apple until Cory pulled up.

It was a red Cadillac, in pretty good condition. Willow ran up and vaulted over the closed passenger door.

"Nice car," she said, smiling at Cory.

"Thanks," said Cory as he pulled away from the curb. "So I guess you didn't go through with it last night."

Willow cocked her head. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

"You're alive."

Willow looked out the windshield. "Yeah, I am. But I did go to the Thompson place, Cory." She smiled at the sound of his indrawn breath. "I met Freddy Krueger."

"What was he like?" asked Cory softly. "Did he try to kill you?"

"I think he wanted to," Willow said, "but he couldn't get out of the ring of candles. The poor thing had some terrible scars. I feel so sorry for the guy."

"SORRY?! Willow, this man has killed dozens of people!"

Willow nodded. "Yeah, I know. I still feel sorry for him. It feels like I've met him once before."

"Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"Yeah."

"Well, maybe you were one of the kids he killed when he was alive."

Willow thought about this for a while. "No . . . no, I don't think so. I'm sure if I was, I would have hated him, or at least feared him." She yawned. "Man, I'm tired. Forgot to sleep last night. Do you have any coffee?"

"No, but someone at school will. Guaranteed." He smiled at her. "You know, when I first saw you I thought you were a freak, in all that black clothing and all. Now I've gotten to know you, I think I was right."

Willow laughed. "Thanks, Cory." They got out of the car and went inside the school.

Willow felt eyes on her immediately. Apparently people in this school had never seen a girl with pale hair wearing black before.

Cory led her up to a group of people. "Hey, guys," he said. "This is Willow. She's cool."

"Hey, Willow," everyone said.

Dear god, I miss my friends, Willow thought. "Hey, guys," she said aloud. "So, would any of you happen to have coffee? I didn't really sleep last night."

Their eyes widened.

"Did you see Krueger?" one of them asked.

"I did, in fact," said Willow.

They gave her a sympathetic look.

"First week in town . . . " one of them said, shaking his head sadly.

Willow had to resist a strong urge to laugh.

She shrugged. "Hey, I'll be fine. It's just a dream, right?" She took some offered coffee and downed it. "Mm, caffeine . . . " she said, grinning.

Cory took her arm and pulled her towards the doors. 

"Come on, I'll come with you so you can get your classes sorted."

"Great," Willow replied, following him through the doors into the building.

When you're dead, you don't sleep. Freddy considered this both an advantage and a disadvantage. Sure, no sleep meant no nightmares, but on the other hand, there was no way to turn his brain off. 

He lay on his sofa – virtually the only piece of furniture he owned – staring at the TV. It was a talk show – one from about a year ago. Television in Hell wasn't bad, as long as you didn't mind getting everything a year later than the upper world. And hey, you got free cable.

The talk show wasn't doing anything to distract Freddy's thoughts. He found himself zoning out and changed the channel. A movie; it looked like a slasher flick. A teenage girl was running around screaming. Freddy smiled to himself. This was more like it. The movie held his attention for a while, but before long his thoughts and memories started invading again.

He saw her – the only person he had ever cared for – lying on that hospital bed. It had been hell watching her waste away. He had spent as little time as possible in the hospital. It was too full of meddling people, who wanted to get him food or clothing or a place to stay. He'd hated their attention. They didn't understand. But Scarlet was sick, so he had to stick around . . . He couldn't imagine leaving her to face leukemia all alone . . . 

An ear-splitting scream woke him from his daydream. The girl in the movie was finally getting murdered. Freddy watched it for a while, then sighed and turned it off. Maybe a walk around town would take his mind off've things. Or maybe a few bottles of bourbon would do the trick.

He got up and left the apartment, not even bothering to shut the door.

Willow doodled on her book. Algebra: simple. She'd done this all before in her last school. It was so easy anyway, just a matter of logic . . . 

"Willow, are you paying attention?"

"No, Ms. Pervial," Willow replied, not looking up. 

Ms. Pervial put a hand on her hip. "Well then, if you're so confident of your math skills, perhaps you'd care to tell me what 'y' equals?" she said, indicating the complex equation on the board.

Willow looked up, made a couple of notes on her book, then said "Fourteen point six three. That's to four significant figures."

The teacher stared at her. "Uh, thank you, Willow. That is correct."

Willow smiled. "Can I go back to drawing random pictures now?"

"Uh, by all means . . . "

The class continued, and Willow kept doodling. She wasn't even paying attention to what she was drawing, so it came as quite a surprise when, at the end of the class, she took a good look at it.

It was a hand. Well, a gloved hand. And on the end of every finger was a long, sharp blade.

Oh, dear, Willow thought, staring at the picture.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Cory grinned at her. "Funny," he said, "I would have thought you were un-scare-able."

Willow made a face. "Un-scare-able, yes. Un-shock-able, no."

"What's that you were drawing?" asked Cory.

Willow covered the picture with her hands. "N-nothing."

"Aw, come on, I want to see. It's not THAT bad, is it?"

"It's not that," said Willow, standing up and shoving the picture in her textbook. "It's . . . it's nothing."

Cory shrugged. "Okay. Whatever you want. Hey, come with me, I want you to meet someone."

He led the way to the cafeteria and sat down at a table across from a pretty redhead.

"Willow, this is my best friend Amy. Amy, this is Willow. She just moved here. Why don't you tell her about your experience with Krueger?"

Amy stiffened. "You haven't told her about him yet?"

"Yeah, I have, but she seems to LIKE him. I figured if someone who'd had an actual experience told her about him, maybe we'd get through to her."

Willow gave him a dirty look. "What, are you trying to brainwash me or something?"

Cory frowned. "Look, Willow, Krueger is dangerous. I just don't want you to get hurt or anything."

Willow sighed. "Alright, Amy, lay it on me. Let's here your story."

Amy rolled up a sleeve, revealing a long, nasty-looking scar.

Willow smiled. "Very nice."

Amy glared at her and rolled her sleeve back down. "That's not the only scar I've got. And believe me, if Krueger wanted me dead, I'd be dead. I don't know why he left me alive, but I was the only one of my friends that survived."

"What about Cory?" Willow asked.

"We became friends about eighteen months ago, after all her friends were killed," Cory said. "Now don't you see what you're getting yourself in for?"

Willow nodded. "I see. I always saw. I just don't see anything WRONG with the guy. Okay, so he's killed people. I can understand why people hate him. But I don't hate him. He seemed a nice enough guy when I met him."

Amy stared at her. "You MET him?!"

"Yup. He was all right. A little more angry than the average person, maybe. A little more homicidal. But perhaps he has good reason to be."

Amy narrowed her eyes. "Think what you want. But I know what he's like."

Willow frowned. "I'm sorry, Amy. I don't mean to upset you. But you can't change my mind that easily. See you later, guys." She got up from the table and walked out of the room.

Thanks for checkin out chapter two, please remember me and check back again for chapter three! And don't forget to review or my demon pets will tear your eyes out! ^_^ 


	3. Chapter the Third

I don't own Nightmare on Elm Street, Freddy Krueger, Hell, or Michael Myers. But I DO own Igor and Willow.

Freddy set his empty glass back on the bar. His mind was starting to go muzzy. He smiled. Good. Just a couple more glasses and he wouldn't be able to remember anything if he tried.

"Another one, Igor," he told the bartender. "Make it a bit stronger."

Igor nodded and set down the glass he was drying. He was a little worried. Krueger hadn't tried to drink himself into oblivion for quite a while.

"Everythin' alright, squire?" he asked as he filled the glass.

"Just gimme the drink, Igor."

Igor shrugged. He hadn't really expected much of an answer. Freddy wasn't the Underworld's most sociable creature.

Freddy stared at his glass, letting the river of pain wash over him. It wasn't as bad as before. Just another couple of glasses . . . well, maybe three . . . 

Someone sat down next to him.

"Keep on moving, friend," he said in a threatening voice.

The shape didn't move.

Freddy looked up, annoyed, into a familiar white mask.

"Oh," he said, turning his gaze back to his drink. "Hey Michael." He took a drink from his glass.

Michael looked at Freddy for a while. The two weren't exactly friends, but they were the closest either of them had got to a friend. He nodded to Igor, who pulled the man a pint of beer.

"An' ye can take that mask off here, squire," Igor said as he handed the glass across the bar. "Ye knows the rules."

Michael Myers took the beer and gazed at the bartender for a minute before pulling off the mask. He took a swig of his drink and then gave Freddy a questioning look.

"Don't ask," said Freddy, finishing off his drink. He pushed the glass across the bar. "Something stronger. Mix in a shot of everything you've got."

Igor stared at him, then shrugged. Freddy always paid off his bar tabs, after all. And it wasn't as if he could get alcohol poisoning or anything. That was the great thing about drinking in the afterlife: you could get completely smashed with no consequences. No liver failure, no hangover . . . just waking up in an alleyway with your pants missing and your favourite knife wedged between your ribs.

Igor pushed the lethal concoction across the counter. "That'll cost you a bit, squire," he warned.

"Just put it on my tab, Igor."

"Of course, squire."

"So how're you doin'?" Freddy asked Michael, sampling a bit of his new drink. It tasted disgusting, but on the up side it delivered a shot to the brain that would have taken an entire glass of the last stuff he was drinking to achieve.

Michael shrugged. He got by well enough without words.

Freddy nodded. "I hear ya," he said, sipping his drink again. "You think that once you're dead everything's going to be hunky-dory. Then you find out it's just like on earth, only with more fire and better TV." A longer sip of the lethal drink. "The only problem is, you're shtuck here. You cannnnt get out. I mean, you an' I, we c'n go back up to earth an' all, but when thins get bad y' can't kill youshelf. You're stuck. Y' jus' hafta get drun' an' hope it all goes away . . . "

Michael nodded and finished off his own drink. He pushed the glass across the bar with a nod to the barkeep and turned back to Freddy, but he'd seemed to have finished his rant.

Freddy stared at his half-empty glass, shrugged and poured the whole thing down his throat. Then he set the glass back on the bar, blinked, and passed out.

Michael grinned down at the prone figure lying on the barroom floor. He prodded it with his foot.

Igor sighed. This was the worst part of the job: having to haul the bodies out the front door. He gave Michael an imploring look.

"Care to give me a hand, squire?" he asked.

Michael shrugged and picked up an arm. He dragged the body out into the street and leaned it against the wall.

"Much obliged to ye, squire," Igor said when he got back. "Here, have one on the house."

Michael grinned again.

Freddy opened his eyes. He was sat up against a wall. There was no sun in Hell so it was almost impossible to tell what time it was. He pulled himself to his feet and tottered back into the bar.

Igor gave him a reproachful look. "Now, don't go thinkin' I'm going t' give you something else to drink."

Freddy shook his head. "No. Just want to know the time. How long was I out?"

Igor looked up at the clock that sat on the wall behind the bar. "Oh, about eight hours or so, squire. Feelin' better now?"

"I don't feel like anything," Freddy replied, "which is perfect. I'll pay you later, Igor," he said, and walked – steadier on his feet now – back out the door.

He walked home with his hands in his pockets. The drink had worked; he couldn't remember much of anything. His mind was a fog. He didn't even remember what it was he was drinking to forget, but then again, wasn't that the point? 

He arrived at his building and stared at the door. Why go in? What was waiting for him there? Nothing. It was just a place to be in when there wasn't anywhere else.

What time was it on earth? About midnight, surely . . . 

Freddy leant against the wall and let his mind wander to up above. Springwood wasn't hard to find. He'd been there so often now. He picked a sleeping mind at random and teleported into their dreams . . . 

Willow had gone to bed earlier that usual to make up for missed sleep the night before. By midnight, she was well under.

She found herself in some sort of factory. There were hooks hanging from the ceiling and pipes.

A scrape of metal against metal. Willow backed up against a wall. She wasn't exactly scared – or so she told herself – but she wasn't stupid either.

Freddy was having a ball. This was just what he needed: a good killing to settle his nerves. He poked his head out from behind a boiler to get a look at his newest victim.

Willow folded her arms. "I bet this is you, isn't it, Freddy?" she called out. "Well I'm not bloody happy, let me tell you right now."

Freddy groaned inwardly. This was the last, the absolute LAST thing he needed. Ah well. Maybe he ought to just kill her now and then it'd all be over. Yes, that's what he'd do. This was a good thing, not a bad thing.

He stepped out from his hiding place. "Time to die, bitch," he said.

Willow smiled at him. Oh my god, I'm smiling at a man who is about to kill me. What's wrong with me? All the same, she couldn't stop the corners of her mouth turning up when she looked at him.

"How are you?" she asked him.

Freddy stopped. When entering people's dreams and threatening them, they did not usually enquire after his wellbeing. 

"I'll be a lot fucking better after I kill you," he said, walking slowly towards her.

"Why?" Willow asked, suddenly concerned. "What did I do? Did I hurt you or something? I didn't mean to, I'm sorry."

Freddy snarled. "Look, it's not YOU, it's just that you remind me of someone I used to know and the sooner you're dead the sooner I can forget all about her again! Now shut up and let me kill you!"

Willow didn't move. All her instincts were screaming at her to get away, but there was something else, something deeper and more heartfelt, that compelled her to stay.

She isn't running. Why isn't she running? Freddy thought frantically as he got closer. Wait; why do I care? 

Willow bit her lip. "If you're going to kill me, make it quick," she said. 

Freddy scowled. "Look," he said, "this isn't how it's supposed to go. You're SUPPOSED to run around like a chicken with its head cut off until I cut you up a bit. Then you wake up and we do the same the next night till I kill you."

Willow shrugged. "So hang me. Look, I'm sorry, okay? All my instincts are telling me to get my ass outta here, but something else is telling me I gotta stay."

Freddy stopped his advancing about a metre away from the girl. "What 'something'?" he asked.

"I dunno. There's just a part of me that thinks that running away from you is the last thing in the world it wants to do."

Freddy took a step back. "You've gotta be shitting me," he said.

"What? What'd I say?"

He narrowed his eyes and grabbed her wrist. He had to find out more about her, but he'd be fucked before he'd let a victim go without SOME kind of scarring, be it physical or mental. He drew his four blades across her forearm and released her wrist.

"Yeow! Holy fuck!" She grabbed her wrist and licked at the blood that was leaking from her wounds. "Owowowowowoww . . . . ." She looked up for her attacker, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Willow sat down with a sigh. Now to try and wake herself up before she bled to death or something equally ridiculous . . . . .

Yup. Sorry it took me so long to get onto updating and all . . . . . I got distracted by sixth form. But now that is over I might get back to updating stuff more often!

Love Renna*


	4. Chapter the Fourth

Disclaimer: the same as the last chapter. Also I borrowed a line (indicated in the text) from the great and wonderful Terry Pratchett, may he live another hundred years. I hope to all the gods he doesn't sue me. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, after all, and I gave him full credit. Listen to me sing his praises! Terry Pratchett is a literary god. Terry Pratchett is an excellent gardener of carnivorous plants. Terry Pratchett is a genius . . . ok I'm done. Don't sue me, sir!

Ah, romance. Tis a wonderful thing. In this sappy edition, find out how Freddy deals with his "problems". See how Willow reacts after her painful brush with him last time. Meet DEATH. All this and more on this exciting episode of 

MY NIGHTMARE

Freddy lay on his sofa, staring at the ceiling. He was having a battle with himself. He knew, deep in his grubby, mangled soul, that he would have to find out more. She had sounded so much like Scarlet, when she said she would never run from him . . .

He had to find out, once and for all, whether she was Scarlet or not. If he didn't, it'd haunt him forever.

But he didn't like the way he would have to find out.

He sighed and got up. He walked over to the door and opened it.

Damien was grinning at him from the other side of it.

"That was pretty good," he said. "I didn't even have to knock."

Freddy stared at him. "I'm about to go out, fucker. What do you want?"

"Nothing much, nothing much. Just dropped by to say hello."

"Well DON'T. Just leave me alone. I gotta go before I chicken out and never get around to it."

"Why?" asked Damien, intrigued. "Whatcha doing?"

"I'm going to ask Death about something."

"Ooh, the Big Guy, huh?" Damien grinned. "Say hi for me, won't you?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Freddy said, pushing past the son of Satan and out into the hall.

Death's door was big. It was also black. It was the kind of forbidding, ominous door that boded. Not boded ANYTHING, just boded in general. [AN this line I adopted from something T. Pratchett wrote, Gaspode's line in Moving Pictures, I believe. Credit where it's due . . . . .]

Freddy hesitated. He'd never actually met Death before, and wasn't really looking forward to the experience. He raised a hand to knock on the huge heavy door and it swung open.

He stared dumbly into the hall, his hand still raised. He had the uneasy feeling that even if Death's door was open, you shouldn't walk in unless you were invited . . . 

~LOOK, IF YOU DON'T COME IN I SHALL GET ANGRY,~ said a voice from nowhere. It was not a voice you would expect to come from a mortal mouth.

Freddy swallowed and stepped forward into the hallway. It was huge. 

~THIRD ROOM ON THE RIGHT,~ the deep voice said. ~AND HURRY UP. I'M A BUSY ANTHROPOMORPH.~

He walked down the hall and pushed open the third door on the right. It was a library. The Grim Reaper was sitting in a large leather armchair in front of a desk. Several large books were piled on the desk. The tall skeleton looked up, irritated.

~WELL? WHAT IS IT?~

Freddy swallowed his fear. "I need to know about someone I met the other day."

The Reaper sighed. ~ALRIGHT, FINE. WHO IS THIS PERSON AND WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?~

"I once knew a person named Scarlet. I want to know if she's been reincarnated."

Death glared at him. ~THERE ARE A MILLION PEOPLE WHO WERE ONCE CALLED SCARLET. CAN YOU BE A BOT MORE SPECIFIC?~

"She died in the fifties."

~KEEP GOING.~

Freddy sighed. "I don't know! I never found out her last name!"

~YOU ARE WASTING MY TIME, DEMON.~

Freddy stared at him in despair. "I'm sorry. I'll go." He turned to leave.

~WAIT,~ Death said. ~HOW DID SHE DIE? HOW OLD WAS SHE?~

"Leukemia," Freddy said, swallowing a lump in his throat. "She was nineteen."

Death nodded. He didn't understand the emotional reactions of most creatures. He snapped his fingers and three books floated towards him. He gave them to Freddy.

~HERE. ONE OF THESE WILL BE THE GIRL YOU ARE LOOKING FOR.~

Freddy took the books and flicked through them. He found the one he was looking for relatively quickly.

"This is her," he said to Death.

Death nodded. ~AH, HER. I REMEMBER HER. INTRIGUING GIRL. YES, SHE HAS REINCARNATED. SHE CURRENTLY LIVES IN A SMALL AMERICAN TOWN CALLED SPRINGWOOD.~

Bingo. Freddy nodded to the Grim Reaper. "Thanks," he said. "See you round."

Someone was waiting for him when he got home.

"So," said Damien as he examined his finger nails, "how did it go?"

Freddy completely ignored him and sat down on the sofa. He stared at the opposite wall and considered his next move. He knew who the white-haired woman was. She was Scarlet. Now what would he do with this new-found information?

Damien gazed at his host with interest. Then, with a smile, he slipped out the door and closed it behind him.

Willow's head hit the pillow and she instantly dissolved into sleep. It had been a long day: school, homework, cleaning the blood off her sheets, and she'd also attempted to get herself a job.

She was on a tropical beach. The sun was shining warm on her face and the sky was a beautiful blue. With a happy sigh she reclined on the soft warm sand.

"Pina Colada?" asked a voice.

Willow opened her eyes. "Hello, Freddy," she said. "Or, no, perhaps that's impolite," she added dryly. "Mr Krueger. You gave me some horrible scratches before, you know."

He sat down beside her on the sand, handing her her drink. "I'm sorry, Scar," he said.

Willow sipped her drink. "You say what now? Scar?"

He gave her a lop-sided smile. "Scarlet. That's your name."

"No it's not. My name is Willow."

"Willow." Freddy spoke the name, tasting it. "I like that. But your name is Scarlet."

Willow shifted, somewhat uncomfortable with the conversation. "No, I can show you my birth certificate if you'd like. My name's Willow."

Freddy narrowed his eyes, and Willow knew she'd made a mistake in pushing this far. Krueger's emotions ranged from depressed to psychotic and there wasn't much room for anything else. 

She gave him a fleeting smile. "You can call me Scarlet if you'd like."

Freddy stared at the sand beneath his feet in glum irritation. "Your name was Scarlet once, when you were alive."

"I'm alive now."

"Yes, but . . . it's not the same."

Willow finally realized that he was referring to a past incarnation of hers. Hesitantly, she shifted a bit closer. "How . . . how did I die?"

"Leukemia."

She gazed across the beach. The sun was setting and it cast glorious oranges, pinks and purples across the landscape. It looked somewhat familiar.

"Have I seen this before?"

"Probably on a movie somewhere. What, you think I could create something like this from scratch? When I first saw Springwood, I had no idea a place so pretty could exist. And it's not as if Springwood's even that nice a place." He was babbling and he knew it. He stopped his traitorous tongue and descended into silence once more.

Willow sighed in happiness and sipped her pina colada again. "It's very beautiful."

Silence.

"Look, I . . . I'm sorry I don't remember. Being Scarlet, I mean."

More silence.

Willow looked over at her nightly visitor. He was still staring at the sand at his feet. She probed, but his shields were impenetrable – something she'd never come across before. She could get no emotion from him. And she realized, suddenly, that she would like to. She would like to take this wounded man and make him smile again.

But to do that, she would have to Remember.

She made a decision.

Willow laid a hand on Freddy's arm, tentatively. "Listen, any chance of sending me back now?"

"You're asleep of your own accord. I only make the dreams." Back to the silence.

Willow conceded that he was indeed right. So she continued to study his face with a curiosity she took no trouble to hide.

After an undetermined length of time he turned his head slightly and began to study her in return. There were her blue eyes, large and luminous in skin so pale . . . as pale as it had been when she lay in that hospital bed, her energy slowly deserting her . . . 

There was her hair, white-blond, the colour it had always been. She had tried to dye it black once but the colour ran out, not taking to her hair.

There were her lips, red against her skin. Full and soft now, not cracked and bleeding as they had been.

There she was, unaccountably innocent and everything Freddy knew he hated, yet under it all harboring a pain and a cynicism only he could match.

Willow was wilting under his stare. His eyes were so intense, filled with something she could not place. In a moment of insight she realized he didn't see her, but the girl she used to be.

Then, abruptly, he looked away. He stirred up a wind from the dream-sea so it blew against cheeks that seemed too warm. "You look exactly as you used to," he murmured. That said, he disappeared.

Willow sat back on her heels, staring at the empty space where he had been. Irrational tears threatened to spill. Biting her lip, she sipped at her pina colada and made the most of the beautiful setting.


End file.
